Pleasant conversation flowed among the seven of them. Sorcha enjoyed getting to know her kinswomen and the Druids better as they shared a chicken and barley casserole, assorted cheeses, and fragrant bread. After they’d first sat down, Sean began to relay what he’d found scrying the future, but Arlen had stopped him, saying, “Time enough for that. ’Tis been a difficult day. Shall we enjoy our meal?”

Every once in a while, she sensed Tavin’s gaze on her, hot and intense. He had something up his sleeve, but she had no idea quite what. If he were any other man, she’d assume he was plotting how fast he could separate her from her underthings, but she’d offered herself. And he’d refused.

Doesn’t matter. Her inner voice was brisk. I’m not staying. At least not long enough for what he has in mind.

They’d moved to tea and a buttery confection, jam layered with sugary dough, when she decided dinner was done enough to talk about more important matters. “How’d you come by those scratches?” she asked Arlen.

“Guess they didn’t heal fast enough to escape notice, eh?”

“No, but that’s not much of an answer.”

He chuckled. “Witches. Got to love them. We located the Wild Pig Inn about the time you bolted. Good thing you were quick. Rhea and two of her sisters showed up not two minutes after you left.”

“That’s terrible.” Sorcha closed her teeth over her lower lip. “Did you kill her?”

“What a predatory question.”

“Well, did you? She’s already dead, but there are ways to make it permanent.”

“Nay, we missed a solid opportunity,” Tavin said. “Our magic isn’t strong enough by itself to disable dead witches.”

“And we didn’t have a decent-sized blade to hand,” Arlen added. “Quite the oversight, but I had no idea Rhea would show herself.”

“Let alone engage us in a scrappy street brawl,” Tavin muttered.

“Witches fight dirty,” Gloria said.

“I’m sure they figured three of them would be more than a match for the two of you,” Liliana cut in.

Tavin mock bowed from his seat. “Why thank you for the vote of confidence, Madame Witch.”

“Don’t mention it,” she retorted coolly.

“I rustled up reinforcements,” Arlen said.

“And I pointed out they were coming,” Tavin added. “One witch told me I was full of shit, but Rhea chanted up a spell. Guess she didn’t want to take a chance on dealing with more of us. What is that language, by the way?”

“Black Witchcraft has its own tongue,” Liliana said.

“It’s not a generally spoken language,” Gloria chimed in. “Black Witches only use it for spells, but over time, a witch gets used to which words mean what.”

“Will it work for any witch?” Tavin was curious.

Liliana shook her head. “Only those born to Black Magic carry sufficient power to kindle dark enchantments.”

“We seem to have moved from polite dinner banter to serious topics.” Sean cast a pointed glance Arlen’s way.

“Aye. Tell us what you started to reveal earlier.”

“Since we’re not eating, I can get fancy. Back in a moment.” Sean stood and strode from the room.

“What does that mean?” Arlen asked Liliana.

“He’s off to get a laptop and projector. We mapped some of what we found, and a picture saves a whole lot of explaining.”

Sorcha took advantage of the break to ferry plates to the kitchen and stack them next to the other dirty ones from their main course. She’d turned, intent on clearing the rest of the dinner debris from the dining room table, when the door swung inward admitting Tavin, his hands full of cups and bowls.

“Here you go.” He placed them on the sideboard. “I’ll help you with these later. Sean’s ready to begin.”

She felt flustered. Something about having Tavin standing right next to her did crazy things to her body. Her heart danced in funny little flip-flops, and keeping her distance was a challenge. Maybe because they’d kissed, and she yearned for more. Or maybe it ran deeper than that.

She gave herself a sharp mental slap. She didn’t do deeper. Why the hell did she have to keep reminding herself?

He crossed the kitchen and held the door open for her.

“Thanks.” She walked past, careful not to brush against him. She didn’t trust herself, but she wasn’t ready to blurt out her intentions to leave, either. They might have need of her magic. She’d been wrong to write off Gloria’s offer of tutoring. The older witch had watched her cast a few simple spells and given her a whole new angle on leveraging the witch side of her power.

When Katerina had grumbled it wasn’t fair things came so easily to Sorcha, her grandmother reminded her she’d only realized magic was real a few weeks earlier and that magic, like everything else, required time and study to truly master.

Sorcha made her way to the dining room, intensely aware of Tavin walking right behind her. To divert herself, she thought about Gloria and her instructions to incorporate more earth and water into her spells.

All magic required varying combinations of the four elements: earth, fire, air, and water. Her early lessons in Hell had been heavy on fire and air, lighter on earth, and water was never mentioned. Yanna had become progressively more unavailable as Sorcha grew older. Perhaps it was her long tenure in Hell, but she spent her days and nights locked in her own world. Much of the time, she had no idea Sorcha was even there. To learn to leverage any magic at all, Sorcha had relied on watching demons and reading. Hell contained two mostly unused libraries, and Yanna had taught her to read several languages before she checked out.

Still lost in memories, Sorcha took her seat. This time, Tavin slid into the chair next to hers. A computer whirred at the far end of the table, and a square of wall between two tall, leaded-glass windows lit up with the Microsoft logo.

“Here we go,” Sean announced. “Lil and I employed location vector spells to unearth these.” The logo flickered, replaced by a map of the U.K. Several red Xs were scattered across the map. Sorcha counted and came up with eight, mostly in Scotland, but one lay in Ireland and one along the coast west of Liverpool.

“I assume the Xs represent portals.” Arlen’s deep voice rumbled the length of the table.

“You’d be right,” Sean said. “We copied the feel of the one we know about and used it as a pattern. I can’t guarantee there aren’t more of them, but we asked three times, and this is what we came up with. At least it’s a manageable number.”

“What else did you find?” Arlen pressed.

Sorcha blew out a breath, grateful someone else was asking the questions. Eight didn’t feel very manageable to her. Not when each location held demons, but she didn’t want to challenge Sean’s assessment. Maybe they knew something she didn’t.

“It’s complicated,” Liliana said. “And contradictory to some extent.”

“Futures are never totally clear,” Morgan leaned forward. “Tell us exactly what you saw. Not your interpretation, but what played out in your pool.”

Sorcha filed the information away. Apparently, Sean used water for his future-seeing. Demons used fire and mirrors. And only Satan himself and his princes were capable of looking into the future.

“I can do that.” Sean fastened his whiskey-colored gaze on Morgan. “You had a reason for asking. What is it?”

Morgan nodded, her silvery hair shimmering in light from a candelabra chandelier. Tonight, she wore a colorful dress that fell from shoulder to ankles in shades of teal, rose, and violet. Silver bracelets adorned both arms, and a matching necklace carried a generous chunk of fire opal.

“While you were in your workshop, I was in the library hunting down likely prophecies. I located a few that fit our circumstances, but I’ll keep them to myself until I hear what you came up with.”

“Fair enough,” Sean replied.

Gloria angled her head toward Morgan. “Why didn’t you include me?”

“I tried. You were so deep in mentoring Kat and Sorcha, you never noticed when I opened the kitchen door.”

“Too much to do, and all of it too important to skip over,” Gloria mumbled. “Next time try harder. I’d prefer to make my own decisions about—” She held up a hand. “Sorry. I’m edgy.”

“We all are,” Morgan said. “No offense taken.”

“In the spirit of honoring Morgan’s request,” Sean said, “I’ll relay what I saw. The vision was complex enough, I didn’t cast another future-seeking spell. This will sound like a story, but those are what play out in my scrying pool.” He wrapped an arm around Liliana who sat next to him. “Jump in if I miss something.”

She smiled softly and leaned against her husband. “I would have anyway, but it’s nice to have permission.”

Jealousy jabbed Sorcha in the vicinity of her breastbone. Liliana and Katerina had mates, Druids who loved them. She saw yearning and affection whenever Arlen or Sean focused on the women they loved, and she wanted the same.

I’m half demon, she reminded herself. It changed the parameters, made her less desirable mate material—except maybe for another demon. The thought was so depressing, she forced her mind to blankness as she listened to Sean.

“Close your eyes and picture a circle of standing stones,” he began in a hypnotic cadence. Untangling his arm from Liliana, he folded his hands in front of him. “The stones are gray and weathered with age, and they sit on a hill overlooking a restless body of water. Ocean rather than lake because the tide was rolling in. I watched the stones for a long time. Water almost reached them before it receded.

“Sea birds wheeled overhead, cawing and screeching. Sometimes one landed on a stone but never remained long. The tide had shifted to going out when a golden peregrine falcon winged its way to the tallest stone. It perched atop it, beak opening and closing, wings extended as if it weren’t certain it was going to remain. A shadow formed behind it, ghostly, spectral. I had no idea what it might mean at the time, but the bird didn’t pay it any heed. It may not have known it was even there.”

Perhaps it was all the bird talk, but her raven swooped from where it lived within her and circled the room. The other familiars joined it, but the birds were quiet. None of their usual raucous hooting and screeching. Both ravens, the owl, and the eagle perched on a sideboard, lined up like crows on a fence. Sorcha was certain they were listening to Sean’s tale.

“I assumed the falcon was Tavin,” Sean went on, “but I kept my mind completely open so as not to influence what showed itself in my pool. A drop of blood ran down the stone. And then one more. The falcon hopped to the sandy earth and shifted. It seemed to take him a long time, but eventually Tavin stood next to the stone, steadying himself with one hand.

“A long gash ran down one side along his ribs. Blood welled. He brushed a hand down the wound. Magic flared, and the gash began to knit together.” He eyed Tavin. “Do you recognize that time?”

“Aye, ’twas just afore I left Isle of Lewis on my way south, except the lot of you were pumping out so much magic, I changed my plans. I’d been in a fight with another falcon who thought to rob me of my kill.” He arched his coppery brows. “I won, but not without a wee bit of damage.”

“Were you aware of whatever was shadowing you?”

“Nay.” Tavin frowned.

Sean narrowed his eyes. “Something lies behind that nay.”

“Mayhap. Not sure. Something about your description struck a chord, but I can’t locate the connection. Give me a few minutes to toss things around.”

Sean took a long drink from his wine goblet. “The scene scrambled then. The stones disappeared, replaced by a village. I’m guessing 1800s, but Liliana thought earlier than that.”

“The architecture wasn’t modern enough,” she spoke up.

“You’re probably right,” he murmured before going on. “It must have been market day, but it was early. Horses and wagons were still hauling items into the town square. An old church made of bleached flagstones sat in the center of town, and its bell tower marked the hour with carillon.”

Sorcha squelched a rapid intake of breath. His description had been general enough it could have depicted a lot of places, but she’d lived in a hamlet very like that a few leagues north of Edinburgh. It was where she’d been before the Wild Pig Inn.

Sean had begun talking again. “A commotion, lots of yelling and screaming, grew louder still. Sorcha ran out from between two buildings.” Sean turned to her. “Does this sound familiar?”

She nodded. “My employer, a cobbler, accused me of stealing food. I hadn’t, and I was running to avoid being whipped.”

Tavin placed a hand over one of hers. It felt good, supportive, but she couldn’t let her guard down, and so she tugged out from beneath his touch. The place his palm had laid across her hand felt empty, but she told herself she was being ridiculous—and dramatic.

Sean nodded. “I saw you running and two men behind you. One was fully corporeal with matted blond hair. The other more ghostlike, not dissimilar to the projection I saw behind Tavin within the circle of standing stones.”

“Not possible. There was only one,” Sorcha insisted.

Tavin sat straighter. “Arlen.”

“Aye?” The Arch Druid quirked a dark brow.

“The thing shadowing Sorcha near the Wild Pig looked a whole lot like what Sean just described. But I’m confused. How could the same otherworldly being stalk me as well?”

“Let’s keep listening, shall we?” Arlen suggested smoothly.

“What do you mean about something tracking me next to the Wild Pig? I sensed no such being, and I swear only the cobbler was after me,” Sorcha spoke up. The information had rattled her, badly. Her magic was plenty strong enough for her to pick up emanations from anything stupid enough to get close to her.

“The cobbler’s energy was obvious, which made you believe he was alone,” Sean stated before going on. “You escaped by sleight of hand. You’ll know this next part, but the others don’t.”

He swept the small group with his gaze before continuing. “Sorcha dove beneath a low wagon, and I felt a jolt of discharged magic. By the time the man after her bellied beneath the wagon, she was gone. Here’s where it gets interesting. The man was back on his feet, mud running down the front of his shirt and screeching at the top of his lungs someone had stolen his property when the ghostlike projection reappeared. It doubled up a fist and slammed it right into the cobbler’s windpipe. He dropped like a stone, and the ghost frittered to nothing but vapor.

“I hope Rede died,” Sorcha muttered. “He was a bastard.”

“The next scene in my pool,” Sean continued, “was a recreation of our gathering on South Ronaldsay. Tavin and Sorcha dropped out of nowhere, but the ghost was there all along—before either of them showed up.”

Morgan was nodding, a satisfied expression on her face.

“Don’t just nod,” Arlen told her. “How does this fit with whatever you unearthed in the lore?”

The librarian got to her feet and paced around the table stopping to fluff the birds’ feathery heads as she passed them. “Sometimes the spirit world has plans, things that have to happen in a certain order. It’s difficult for them because we’re not aware of their presence much of the time. They can’t talk directly with us. All they can do is—”

Arlen made a chopping motion. “Tell me what you think this means. I don’t care how the spirit managed to flatten someone. I assume he dragged psychic energy out of a handy human who probably felt like burnt parritch for the next month.”

“All right,” Morgan said, tightlipped. “My interpretation is Tavin and Sorcha have critical roles to play in either finding Rhea, disabling her, or both. They’re also linked in some way to the portals. Regardless, someone worked their tush off to make certain they ended up together. Right place. Right time. I’m assuming their magic is additive in some way and that we need the combination to prevail over whatever Dame Fortune throws in our path.”

“Sean?” Arlen nailed his second with a penetrating look.

“About what I came up with,” Sean said. “Except Lil and I weren’t clear about the ghost—or spirit or whatever it is.”

Arlen’s gaze settled first on Tavin and then on Sorcha. “Have the two of you combined your magic to work on anything significant?”

“Not sure about significant,” Tavin replied, “but we joined our ability to scan John O’Groats.”

“And?” Arlen pressed.

“We work well together,” Sorcha answered. “I was surprised how effortless it was to join our magics, but then I’m not used to working with anyone, and I assumed it was always that easy.”

“’Tisn’t.” Tavin said and then turned to Arlen. “Does that answer your question?”

Arlen nodded. “It’s growing late. Do we attempt to shut the portals first? Or do we go after Rhea?”

“Shut the portals,” Gloria said. Her raven squawked agreement. The birds rose and flew to their respective witches.

Sorcha held an arm out for her familiar. Its talons were sharp, but she’d grown used to their bite long since. The spirit, or projection, or whatever had been riding shotgun. Was it here in the room? The idea of an invisible shadow herding her toward a particular destiny made her squirm.

“Sorcha!” Arlen’s voice held an edge.

“Yes. Sorry.”

“Sometime between now and tomorrow midday, you and Tavin will put your combined ability to the test. I want a full report on what you can—and cannot—accomplish. Once we’ve established that, we’ll plan how to take down the portals.”

Tavin leaned closer and asked her, “Would you like to do a wee bit tonight? Or are you too tired?”

Still feeling disconcerted about her future being laid out behind her back, she sniped, “Demons”—she stressed the word—“don’t need much sleep. I’m good if you are.”

His expression, which had been solicitous, pleasant, turned unreadable. He stood and said, “You pick our practice arena.”

“Better if you do.” She got to her feet. “I don’t know this castle nearly as well as you. But we should be somewhere we can’t damage if anything goes awry.” She addressed her next words to Arlen. “Are we excused for the night? I’ll take care of the dishes once Tavin and I are done.”

“I’ll do them,” Gloria said. “Your task is far more important.”

“Thank you.” Sorcha considered around the table and giving her sister a hug, except neither of them were the hugging type.

Tavin had moved to the arched entry. She joined him, and they walked to a staircase leading down. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Sean’s workshop. It’s shielded and warded. Worst we might do is knock the castle off its foundation.”

She stopped mid step and balanced between two risers. “You’re joking, right?”

“Aye, lass. What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth to counter, “What’s right?” but shut it with a clack before anything snarky escaped. Her inner turmoil wasn’t his fault. They continued down more stairs. Recessed lighting flickered to life as they passed, illuminating the way. A hallway at the bottom of the last flight led to an underground room with no windows. A stone fireplace took up most of one wall, and Tavin sent magic to kindle a blaze.

More magic pushed the door shut behind them. She took in a rounded room with thick area rugs scribed with runes. The walls were rock-studded dirt. More of the same magical lights reflected off one another.

“Take a seat.” Tavin pointed to a low sofa near the fire.

“But we have to work,” she protested.

“Magic is finicky,” he said. “Something changed in you when Morgan was talking. Once we lay it to rest, we’ll work on combining our magic.”

Sorcha shook her head. Rather than sitting, she clasped her hands behind her and paced from one side of the chamber to the other and back again. “I’ve been on my own practically since I was born. The idea of being manipulated behind the scenes infuriates me—and gives me the creeps. If something magical is skulking about, why can’t I feel it? Why isn’t it talking to me directly?”

“Because spirits can’t communicate in that fashion. I could ask the same questions as you about the ghost—or whatever it is.” He’d stood still while she circled him like an overactive satellite.

Sorcha came to a stop in front of him. “Why aren’t you?”

“Because it doesn’t matter to me.”

“It should.”

He shrugged. “I like to think I’m my own man, but apparently I’m needed here. Does it matter how I arrived? If Arlen had taken the trouble to hunt me down—and he could have if he’d chosen—and asked me to return, I might have refused. This way, I assessed the situation for myself and determined greater needs than mine were in play.”

“Mmph.” She turned his words over, considering them.

He stepped close enough to circle her upper arm with a hand. Warmth from him seared her, made her long for things she’d never have. “You said it all, lass, when you said you’d always been alone.” He switched to Gaelic. “Afore, ye were alone because ye had no choice. Ye’re no longer alone—if ye wish to alter your situation—but it entails trusting those around you. Learning to work in conjunction with others.”

She took a chance and gazed into his green eyes. Golden flecks mingled with the deep green irises. “I don’t know if I can.”

A hint of a smile curved his mouth. “’Twas honest. ’Tis a good start. There’s only one way to find out.”

She set her mouth in a determined line. “If I run screaming from the room, you’ll know I couldn’t do it.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, lass, but I have faith in you.”

Emotion rocked her, loosened her moorings. Before she did something stupid, like throw her arms around him again, she twisted away from his grip. “How do you want to begin?”

“With magic we’ve already used. Where else? Start with the known and work outward from there.”

The raven had stuck with her through her frenzied pacing. It shimmered into a ball of light and dove within. Sorcha understood. It was offering its magic to augment hers. It wanted her partnership with Tavin to be successful.

“Your bird disappearing takes some getting used to.” He turned until he was facing her.

“It’s here.” She tapped her chest. “When it’s within me, our magics are additive.”

“Thank it for me. I want us to succeed too. There’s a lot at stake, and if we’re the crucible that makes a difference, I’m all for it.” He positioned himself to face the fire, hands extended in front of him.

Sorcha did the same. When power crackled from his extended fingertips, she threaded her magic with his, letting it build. The same sense of rightness that had filled her in John O’Groats was back in spades. Their magic was synergistic, born to be joined.

Excitement thrummed a tattoo up and down her spine, and her reservations fell to the wayside. She could always leave.